08.

Her sleep was disturbed several times. Waking up with a start, covered in cold sweat, she stares into the darkness, eyes wide open. The next interruption she shoots up from the pillows she leaves the tiny lamp on the side table burning and closes her heavy lids again. A few moments later the horrible images come back. Nothing precise, just wavering shadows, her being immobile, somewhat tied, rooted to the spot. A large, dark silhouette bends over her, she can feel the icy fingers reaching for her – and finds herself yelling in her damp sheets, her pale fingers clinging into the material for dear life.

***
Rosie was missing in arts class today – so no further confrontation with David. The week passes on, her sort of existing more than living. Within a glimpse it’s Thursday again. Thinking it over and over she can’t help herself and heads for the club – around 9 pm. The ‘zone’ is surprisingly busy. She’s not really keen to participate yet slipping into her role she hopes to find at least a little relief from the nagging pain and fear inside. Stretching somebody on the bank, flogging, whipping – she feels like a robot, handing out mechanically. Nobody is complaining – on the contrary. It starts to feel more and more weird. When she checks her mobile clock next it’s already way after 4 am. He didn’t come.

***
Friday morning shows her it’s ugly face. It’s pouring outside, nothing to write home about. Turning to the other side she lolls in the bed, exhausted and disillusioned. Somehow time passes by and after a quick shower she’s ready for the museum class – though she was waiting till the last moment to call in sick. You’re just stupid! Who’s he that you recoil like a wounded animal?!

The kids keep rushing into the atelier, keen to slip their shirts on to continue working on their paintings. The happy mix of children voices lifts her spirit at least a little. The tall, blond girl is one of the last to arrive. She must have been dropped as she enters the room on her own. Opposed to her usual vivid behaviour she appears quiet, introspect – and kind of sad. Slowly pulling the way too big shirt over her head she silently scurries over to her easel.

After she instructed the class and answered a few questions Josie walks over to Rosie and musters her a while, her absentmindedly applying acrylic colours to her canvass. Is that a tear glistening?!
“You’re OK, Rosie?” Her lips twitch slightly and then she turns around and without a further thought her arms cling around Josephine’s body. “Hey, Angel! What’s wrong?” Running her fingers through the blond hair she tries to calm the trembling girl a bit. Sniffing a few times Rosie slowly lets go and her teary eyes rip Josie’s heart out. “I am not allowed to talk about it.” Wiping her nose she’s still agitated. “They have been fighting all week again. I don’t know what to do, Joe!” “Your parents?” She nods and cuddles back against Josephine’s chest. They both have slipped down onto the floor – Josie grabbed one of the posing cushions near by. “Dad’s been unbearable the last time, his mood swings and such. I’ve never seen him this way. Mommy’s not better. He yelled at her having a boy friend. I don’t understand. Why would she do that? She’s got Daddy. Maybe it’s my fault?” Oh my, why do children always think it’s their fault?! “Rosie, darling – it’s not your fault! Never ever think anything like that! Adults have arguments every now and then. After a while they settle things and usually everything is fine again.” Do you believe the crap you’re just talking?! You also whished for…
“Do you think so? Mom threatened him to leave him with me and Jimmy. It’s not the first time.” She sighs deeply, the pain and desperation all palpable. She must have witnessed more than was desirable in her young life. Living a celebrity kid’s life in sort of golden cage to the outside, yet being trapped between the fronts. “The worst thing is when Daddy cries and he comes creeping into my bed. He is so sad I can’t do much to console him. I snuggle into his arms like I used to do when I was really little. He hums into my ear and after a while he falls asleep, his face wet with tears.” She takes a deep breath, re-living the memories apparently. “I think he’s very scared to loose me and I’m too.”
God, baby, you’re breaking my heart!

Josie feels nauseous all of a sudden. It’s like an abyss opening beneath her body. „I think there’s not much what you could do now but being patient and tell each of your parents you love them and you need them both. I don’t know the reasons why all this happens, Rosie, but sooner or later it will sort itself out. One way or the other.“ She gets onto her knees and then up to her feet. „Come on. We can’t stay here all the time.“ The alarm just goes off and it’s time to clean up. Good luck her two college students are so alert and helping out everywhere possible. „Who’s going to pick you up, luv?“ The blond girl starts to unbutton the meanwhile colourful shirt. „Suppose, Darren, Dad’s bodyguard.“

A few minutes later a grey-haired hung of a man appears in the door frame. Josephine recalls having seen him on pictures of the last tour, guarding David. Rosie frowns and without much motivation she walks over to the waiting man. „Bye, Joe. Thanks for...everything.“ She just must have realized she shouldn’t have talked about those private things and tries to cover up. „You’re welcome, Rosie. Your picture is amazing.“ Instead of leaving with the little girl Darren steps inside and nestles in the pocket of his jacket, presenting a creased, vanilla coloured envelope. „Ms. Myers? I shall give this to you from Mr. Gahan.“ Nodding a bit he offers the letter to her. Then he takes Rosie by her hand and both turn and leave the atelier.

Josie can’t wait to be alone. She’s somehow afraid to open the envelope. Keeping it safe in her shoulder bag she finally reaches her flat. When she closed the door behind she kicks her shoes off, lets her jacket drop into the next corner and lets herself fall into the soft, worn out cushions of her couch. With shaky hands she rips the lid open, trying to get at the contents. With a little cuss she stops with the sharp pain searing through her ring finger in a split second. She tore herself at the paper. Licking away the few traces of blood she tries again and finally unfolds the page.

Josephine,

even Napoléon was banned one day and died a lonesam death in exile. Waterloo is all mine. Don’t hang your hopes too high. I’m not worth it.

David

That’s all. He couldn’t have been more cryptic again. Is this what a depressive man writes? Someone who’s heart must be torn apart between at least the love to his wife and the one to his offspring? Who’s loved by the masses but couldn’t care less as it’s nothing for keeps? Nothing that warms you at night in a lonely bed, knowing that your relationship is close to the edge. The scene with him sneaking into Rosie’s bed, cuddling close to her, pops back into her mind. Isn’t it usually moms doing that? She knows it’s merely speculation from here. You’re the same – pretending to be strong, dominating everything and everyone around you. What a farçe! I hear your warning but I’m afraid I’m going to not only burn my fingers again. And I can’t even show up at your door, shaking you! This could cost me the last shreds of sanity.

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